


Old Wounds

by ChocolatteKitty_Kat



Series: The Golden Years [1]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies), Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-22 00:27:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17652563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocolatteKitty_Kat/pseuds/ChocolatteKitty_Kat
Summary: After a particularly bad nightmare about the White Witch, Edmund wakes to find his scar hurting, and is comforted by Aslan





	Old Wounds

**Author's Note:**

> The works in The Golden Years collection are a series of tales concerning the Golden Age of Narnia, as governed by the Kings and Queens of Old.
> 
> Setting: Less than a year after the events of the Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe

She was always there.

Every time he closed his eyes, every time he fell asleep. She lurked in the shadows of the castle--especially the ones in his room. When he went outside, he saw her face in pools of water. Every broken branch on the ground was her staff. When his sister dropped a glass goblet, the shards of glass were shards of ice and the red wine was pooling blood.

He tried to forget--he tried so, so hard to forget--but he just… couldn’t. She was everywhere.

And the more he saw her, the less he slept. Food and drink would suddenly turn to ash in his mouth as he remembered the enchanted sweets she had given him, and he found it harder and harder to eat.The others noticed. Lucy even offered him a drop from her diamond bottle, but he declined. “I don’t think it would work like that, Lu,” he sighed.

As the months passed, he began to settle into life in Narnia. Spring faded and summer dawned, and then things really got going. The fauns and the satyrs and the dryads held rollicking parties in the woods, and even Edmund and Lucy were allowed to stay up long past their bedtimes to dance the night away with the Narnians.

Those were his favorite times. Not just because of the fun they had or the trouble they occasionally got into, but because if he didn’t sleep, he didn’t dream, and if he didn’t dream, he didn’t see her. But there were still times where he would see a faun across the fire and see Mr. Tumnus, lying crumpled and broken in her dungeon, or frozen into stone on the steps of her icy palace, and when he did, he would hurry away from the gaiety and hide in the safety of his room, where no-one would bother him, and have a good cry. But as the summer began to fade into autumn, the parties grew fewer and farther between, and he no longer had an excuse to stay awake. Before long, even Peter, busy as he was trying to learn how to rule an entire country, noticed the dark circles under his eyes.

But it was when winter fell that things truly got bad. The cold seemed to seep into his bones and never leave, no matter now close he got to the fires, or how many blankets he burrowed under. When the wind whistled around the corners of Cair Paravel, he could hear her calling his name.

They were all seated in Peter’s study when the snow began to fall. Lucy was sat on the wide windowsill, tucked neatly under a heavy blanket, reading a book Mr. Tumnus had given her, while Susan fletched new arrows and Peter and Edmund struggled through a game of chess.

“Look!” Lucy cried suddenly, on her knees, book forgotten, face pressed to the window. “A snowflake!”

“Ugh, I never want to see another snowflake for as long as I live,” Peter groaned, but he got up to look out the window.

“But it’s so pretty,” Lucy breathed, her breath fogging up the cold glass. “I know that the last time it snowed in Narnia, it was because of the witch, but this is natural snow, and isn’t it so much prettier?”

Peter laughed. “I suppose you’re right. It’s certainly much nicer to look at than I was expecting.”

“Edmund, are you alright?” Susan asked.

Edmund was staring intensely down at the chess set on the table in front of him. He gripped the arms of the chair so hard that his fingers were white. “I’m fine,” he managed. “Just feeling a bit odd. I don’t think that fish we had for dinner is agreeing with my stomach.”

“I think it’s just because you know you’re going to lose,” Peter teased, returning to the table. “Anyways, we all had the fish, and the rest of us are fine.”

“Maybe,” Edmund stood up abruptly, sending his chair screeching backwards. “But I think I’m going to go to bed anyways. Let’s have another match tomorrow.”

He ignored Peter and Susan calling after him as he hurried back to his room. The heavy door slammed behind him, and he slid the bar that locked it shut. He didn’t bother to light any candles, or even start a fire in the fireplace; he simply burrowed under the heavy furs and blankets on his bed, cold through and through, and, despite his best efforts, fell into a deep sleep.

Unfortunately, it was not a dreamless sleep.

First, Edmund found himself falling, as one often does in dreams. He felt something soft brushing against his face and hands, and reached out to touch fur. Then, the fur changed to the scratch of branches, until he was tumbling head over heel through wet, ice-cold snow. He tried to stop himself, but there was no doing, and he kept going and going, never slowing. Quiet suddenly, the soft snow changed into rock-hard ice--or maybe it was really stone, he couldn’t tell--and Edmund finally began to stop falling.

He came to a stop at the bottom of ice-covered steps, surrounded by looming stone statues. He tried his best not to look at them, but despite his efforts, he saw many people he knew: Mr. Tumnus, the Beavers--even his brother and sisters were there. Eyes filling with tears, he scrambled to his feet and raced up the steps, slipping and sliding the whole way, until he burst through doors made of solid ice and into the queen’s great hall.

A roar sounded to his right, and a writhing mass of bloody grey fur slammed into him, knocking him off his feet once more. Edmund screamed and fought against the body on top of him, until he was finally on his back and the thing had him pinned securely down. He looked up into the face of the wolf Maugrim, even as the massive wolf’s blood dripped from a wound on its chest to puddle on Edmund’s.

“Let me go,” Edmund sobbed, trying to fight his way out from under Maugrim’s control. The great wolf grinned--it was more of a grimace, really--and blood dripped from its jaws as well.

“You’re dead,” Edmund said, trying to kick at Maugrim’s stomach. “Peter killed you. You’re dead.”

“You’re dead,” the wolf echoed back. “Peter killed you. You’re dead, you’re dead, you’re dead. Dead, dead, dead.”

Edmund sobbed again, renewing his struggle against the wolf’s heavy paws.

“Now, now, Maugrim,” came a voice colder than ice from the throne at the end of the hall. “Let’s not torment our guest too much. After all, we have the rest of time for that.”

The wolf grinned again. “Dead, dead, dead.” It stepped back, off of Edmund, and the boy struggled to his feet, staggering away from the beast.

He stopped, however, when he saw her.

Jadis was seated on her throne, as he had suspected when he heard her speak, but to see her there was another thing entirely. She was just as he remembered: skin as white as paper, lips as red as blood, clad in a gown that almost looked to be made of ice. He felt himself grow colder just looking at her.

“Come here, Edmund,” she cooed, reaching out one long-fingered hand. “Come to me.”

He shook his head and took a step back, biting his lip to keep from crying any more, but backed directly into Maugrim and the wolf snapped at his spine. Edmund took a jump forward, then kept advancing as the growling wolf continued to butt its head into his back.

“Good boy,” the witch smiled wickedly. Her teeth were as red as her lips. “How would you like some more Turkish Delight?”

He shook his head stubbornly, trying to stand his ground at the bottom of the dais, but the wolf growled again, its hot breath scalding Edmund’s ear, so he took a step up.

“Oh, silly boy,” the witch laughed. “Of course you’d like some more. Now, come here.” The emphasis on the command was so strong that Edmund found himself climbing the steps to her throne without Maugrim having to press him on. “There we are. Good boy.” The witch took hold of his arm and pulled him onto the throne beside her, wrapping her cloak around his shoulders, which somehow only served to make him colder. On her lap sat the ornate container of Turkish Delight that she had produced at their first meeting. “Have some,” she urged, offering it to him.

“I don’t want any,” Edmund insisted stubbornly, turning his head away.

“Edmund, dear,” the witch’s icy fingers reached out to grab his chin in a vise and turn his head towards her. “Be a good little boy and do as you’re told.” She picked up a piece of the Turkish Delight and squeezed his jaw until he opened his mouth. He tried to shut his mouth or turn his head away, but the witch shoved the candy into his mouth before he could. Then, she released him--and Edmund took the opportunity.

He leapt to his feet, spitting out the Turkish Delight and ran halfway down the dais, until he was pinned between Maugrim and Jadis. “Stop it!” he screamed, tears beginning to stream down his face again. “Stop it! Leave me alone!”

Edmund woke with a start, sitting bolt upright in bed. “Ow,” he winced, grabbing at his side. The place where the witch had stabbed him was throbbing with a dull ache, hurting nearly as much as it had when she had first dealt the blow. He shoved the blankets aside, and drew his knees up under his chin so that he was in a ball, and started crying again. He cried for what felt like hours, until…

“Edmund.”

He looked up, searching for the source of the soft, deep voice.

“Who-who’s there?” he called into the darkness of his room, wishing that his voice didn’t tremble quite so much, or that he had started the fire before going to bed.

“Edmund,” the voice repeated, sounding much closer now, and a large, velvety nose butted against his hand.

Edmund relaxed immediately, and reached out into the darkness. “Aslan,” he called.

“I am here, child,” the voice replied, as Edmund buried his hands in the lion’s great mane.

“Oh, Aslan,” Edmund began to sob again. “I’m so scared.”

The great lion settled down on the bed in front of him, resting his head in Edmund’s lap. “And what do you fear?”

“I keep seeing… her,” Edmund sniffled. “She’s everywhere. Every time I close my eyes, I see her. I can’t even sleep any more.”

“Why do you fear the witch, child?” Aslan asked. “You know that I have killed her. She cannot hurt you any longer.”

“I… I don’t know,” Edmund admitted. “I just… can’t seem to forget what happened when I was with her. It’s like I’m… stuck. Is there something wrong with me?”

“Certainly not, dear one,” Aslan replied. “It is perfectly normal to remember and relive traumatic experiences, such as your time with the witch.”

“Can you make it stop?” Edmund sniffled. “Can you make her go away for good--kill her in my mind just like you did in real life?”

“I’m afraid that’s not how it works, Edmund,” Aslan said gently. “Your memories of your time with the witch are yours for the rest of your life. However, with some time, she will fade into the background.”

“But what about now?” Edmund asked. “I’m so tired… I don’t want to see her in my dreams any more!”

“Remember, Edmund, your dreams are part of your own mind,” Aslan said, pick his head up off of Edmund’s lap and lifting it to eye level with the boy. “You are the one who truly has control over them.”

“It doesn’t feel that way when I’m there,” Edmund protested.

“It may be quite some time before you truly are able to take power in your dreams and drive the witch from them,” Aslan said. “So until that time comes, always remember: I am there with you. I will never leave you. Even though you may not see me, I will be there, right by your side. The witch will not hurt you again.”

And, with a gentle lion’s kiss to Edmund’s forehead, Aslan was gone.

In the morning, Edmund woke, feeling more rested than he had since long before they had come to Narnia. He smiled to himself, remembering Aslan’s words the night before, then threw back the blankets, ready to face the winter.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own The Chronicles of Narnia, Narnia, the Pevensies, or any other character, place, or idea from the books. I do however own my writing herein.


End file.
